


Bush food.

by KiwiLombax15



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Some minor violence and death, they go on a romantic dinner and eat bugs its good i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiLombax15/pseuds/KiwiLombax15
Summary: The Junkers find a familiar taste of home. And wasn't it their anniversary? Junkrat can never remember.(Alternate title: The Boys are really bad at going incognito.)





	Bush food.

**Author's Note:**

> Re-upload bc html is a fuck when you forget and put the wrong symbols in.

Junkrat quite liked Germany. It was big and crowded and easy to get lost in, packed with interesting smells and places and history. Bloody good beer, too.

Slowly, night was falling over Berlin as the junkers did their best to blend with the crowd. The cops at Prague had been better than they were expecting, and the two had wordlessly agreed to stay fairly low here. 

As hard as it was to make themselves inconspicuous, he had to admit he'd done a fairly good job. His scorched balding head was hidden under a beanie hat, his casual clothes a little grubby but fairly normal. Only his height and limp and wild, wild eyes got him attention.

Roadhog was harder to hide, but they'd managed to find a massive leather jacket that covered the distinctive tattoo, a fabric surgical mask covering his mouth.

They were an odd pair, but in a city as cosmopolitan as Berlin, no one blinked an eye.

“Ey, Roadie! Ya wanna get dinner?” Junkrat yelled over the crowd. The biker scratched his gut contemplatively.

“I could eat. Whaddaya want?”

“Dunno. Was thinking of trying some of those currywursts I saw yesterday but there’s a shit tonne of restaurants around. 'N we're rolling in cash. All sorts of options.”

Something caught his eye and he glanced up. A sign shone in the street lamps glow, fancy letters on a background shaped like a stylized beetle. Junkrat squinted.

“D-das Insekt. Insekt. That means bug, roight? Who named their restaurant bug?”

The window had a menu propped up on it, and past it he could dimly see customers seated at elegant tables.

Behind him, he heard Roadhog make a grunt of recognition.

“This place serves insect food. Crickets and shit. Tryna make people less squeamish about eating them. Lots of places used to have the same gimmick.”

“Why? I've eaten bugs my whole fucking life, why's it a big deal?”

“Soft city fuckheads.”

Junkrat cackled.

“Fair enough. Hang on.”

He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a grimy tablet. The language app he'd downloaded was proving invaluable, just needing to scan any piece of written word and produce a near perfect translation. Junkrat was a slow reader, but a steady one, and he painstakingly made his way down the list.

“Ant medley. Sauteed bee larvae. Grilled centipede kabobs. Madagascar hissing cockroach on summer salad. Look at all this fancy shit. We ate this stuff as street food in China,why are they so precious about-holy shit.”

“What?”

“Holy shit holy shit _holy shit!_ ”

“Junkrat, what?”

The tablet was shoved in his face as Junkrat shrieked in triumph, heedless of the odd looks of passersby.

_“THEY HAVE WITCHETTY GRUBS!”_

Roadhog grunted in surprise. Witchetty grubs were practically a staple in Junkertown. Nourishing, plentiful and easy to find, any Junker street vendor worth his salt would have at least one option containing the nourishing grub. He'd assumed once he'd left, he'd never see them again. And by the overjoyed look on Junkrats face, he'd thought the same thing. One thing was for certain, there was only going to be one option for dinner tonight.

“Lets go, then.”

Junkrat beamed.  
…

The host looked up and sniffed disapprovingly at the two riff raff who wandered into the door. Definitely _not_ what they wanted in this fine establishment.

“((I'm sorry, sirs. This restaurant is fully booked.))”

The scrawny wild eyed one with the terrible posture blinked at him and grinned, opening his wallet to reveal the fattest stack of currency the host had ever seen.

“((Two...seats...friend.))” he said, in broken German.

A few moments later after the host rapidly decided that these _fine_ business men more than deserved to enjoy their prestigious restaurant, the two had been shown to a private booth and the host had bowed and scraped and oiled his way out. Junkrat looked around the place with an appraising eye.

“Fancy place, this. Even got bug decorations. Lots of wooden shit. Would burn well.”

Sure enough, the tasteful décor had a certain theme about it. Even the wooden table they were seated at had a border of carved ants winding around it.

“((Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to the Insect. I am Luna-5 and I am your waitress for the evening.))”

Roadhog looked up and growled, fingers digging into the plush seat at the sight of the neatly dressed omnic who had appeared at the booth near silently. A metal hand brushed his knee and he caught Junkrats eye.

“I know, mate. Sorry, I didn't realize. But we gotta stay undercover here.” Junkrat murmured. He looked genuinely unnerved at the sight of the gleaming metal waitress, but he wasn't lunging for his bombs. Not yet. He sighed and followed his bosses example.

“Evening.” He grunted harshly.

“English language detected and downloaded. My apologies. To repeat, my name is Luna-5 and I will be serving you this evening, what would you two-” She only hesitated slightly at this. “-Fine gentlemen be having today.”

“The witchetty grubs.” Junkrat snapped, fondling his detonator through his pockets.

“Very good. It's certainly our most popular dish. All grubs are killed and cooked on site for maximum freshness. And for you, sir?”

It was a long shot, but maybe-

“Y'got Huhu grubs here?”

“Huhu...one moment, let me look those up on my internal servers...ah, the New Zealand native. Not currently, though we are trying to bring those in once we've sorted out the issues with customs. Here is a QR code for our social media accounts, we announce any new dishes on the menu there.”

She handed him a card which he took without looking at. Junkrat would burn it later for kicks.

“Same as him then.”

“Thank you. Those will be out shortly.”

She left and the two breathed out.

“Fuck I hate those things.” Roadhog muttered.

“Shit, I'm real fucking sorry, darl. Didn't know-”

“People use 'em as workers all the time. Should have expected it. At least this one doesn't have a weapon.”

Junkrat sighed and settled down, taking some little device he'd been working on and fiddling with it as they waited.

“Ey Roadie, I just thought.”

“Hmm?”

“How long have we been a thing? Y'know...a thing?”

Roadhog shrugged.

“Hard to say. Everything went by so fast after we left. Maybe a year? Not sure.”

“So would that mean this is our anniversary dinner? Hear that’s a thing most couples do.”

Roadhog blinked as the realization hit..

“I...guess it is.”

“Well...happy anniversary, ya big lug. Thanks for puttin' up with me all this time.”

Roadhog hid his face in the menu to hide the flush, pushing down the fluttery warmth in his gut.

“Yeah well...happy anniversary too...”

“Here you are, sirs!”

The waitress put their plates down and left smoothly as Junkrat eagerly grabbed his fork.

His face fell.

“What the fuck is this?”

Exactly 6 witchetty grubs lay on a bed of fancy salad, arranged pretentiously. Some kind of sauce had been drizzled over them, the grubs themselves lightly coated in breadcrumbs.

“Don't think much of the portions.” Roadhog grumbled as Junkrat glared at his plate, jabbing a grub on the end of his fork like it had insulted his mum and stuffed it in his mouth.

There was a hint of the witchetty grubs Junkrat remembered, scrambled eggs with a nutty aftertaste. But the spicy sauce ruined it, the herby bread crumbs completely overpowered it. It tasted like rich people food, fussy and pretentious and naff. Junkrat dropped his fork and put his head in his hands.

“They fucked it. Completely fucked it. Even cut the heads off. This isn’t bush food, it's suit food. They took something good from poor people and ruined it. Made it expensive as shit so they couldn't have it.” He reread the menu through his tablet and hissed like an angry cat.

“”Enjoyed by Australian diners for decades”? Try thousands of years, mate! Aboriginal fullas were eating these way before these fancy fucks got their white hands on it!”

In an instant, the fire died away and Junkrat slumped in his chair.

“Remember old lady Alinga? Used to sell witchetty grub skewers down Red Cliffs. Always had a free one for little kids who were hungry and scabby enough. None of this herby rubbish, just cooked outdoors like they should be. Sorry, hoggie...just wanted to give you a taste of home...Nothing home cooked about this.”

Roadhog pushed his plate away and sighed.

“No worries, mate. I know you meant well.” He hated seeing Junkrat like this, looking shrunken and sad. “Y'know...the bot said they cooked the grubs on site.”

“So...?”

“So that means they've got a source of live grubs here...”

Junkrat looked up, eyes wide, before the familiar hellish grin spread over his face.

“I got bombs in me bag.”

“I got my mask in my pocket.”

“Staying low is overrated, let's go!”

They exploded from the booth like a well oiled machine, small explosions mixing with patrons screaming as Junkrat threw a handful of small poppers.

“Hoggy, get these rich fuckers shinies off them, I'll be in the kitchen!”

A human waiter tried to stop him and Junkrat floored him with a punch, bursting into the kitchen and drawing the handgun he carried for emergencies, regretting leaving the launcher back at base. He wasn't a good shot by any means but he was decent enough at short range to blow the head of the omnic chef into a shower of metal scraps.

“Another one for the scrap heap!” he crowed, as kitchen staff fled in terror. Through the door he heard Roadhog bellowing demands as he waved the hook he always carried in his coat and tittered gleefully at the wonderful chaos. 

The kitchen was lined with row upon row of sterile terrariums, their wriggling and scuttling contents going loose as Junkrat vaulted a counter to get his prize, a large wooden travel box. He opened it and the smell of home hit him full face, the smell of witchetty bush sawdust. 

Something writhed gently under the top layer.

Bingo.

Tucking the box under his arm he burst out of the kitchen.

“Hoggy, grab the goods and time to go!”

Roadhog grabbed the last diamond necklace from a trembling womans fingers and hauled Junkrat under one arm.

“Take us down the alley, quick!”

Passersby scattered in shock as Roadhog burst through the door in a shower of wood splinters, scattering people like ninepins as they were off and away. Somewhere behind them sirens started, and Junkrat let out a cackling laugh.

Keeping on the low down was never their style, anyway.

…  
At the rickety table in their base, Roadhog fidgeted eagerly with his fork. Junkrat had banned him from the kitchen, claiming “genius at work” and left him to wait. Now warm familiar smells were drifting out, accompanied with the sizzle of a grill and tuneless whistling.

“Grubs-hehehehe! Grubs up!” Junkrat emerged from the dingy kitchen carrying two plates piled high with golden, crispy morsels. “Happy anniversary, for real this time.”

He lifted Roadhogs mask off his face and kissed him gently, thin lips soft against his own. 

Roadhog didn't even try and push down the warm twisting in his gut this time, leaning into it. Junkrat pulled away abruptly and Roadhog sighed.

“Anyhoo, dinner’s getting cold, tuck in!”

Cheeks still red, Roadhog took a bite and groaned. Soft inside with a crispy shell, little morsels that melted on the tongue and left the taste of nutty scrambled eggs behind.

“Oh shit, that's the real thing. Proper Junkertown street food.”

“Nice, right?” Junkrat said around a mouthful. “Trick is t' boil em a little first before ya grill em. They might pop otherwise.”

“It's perfect.”

Junkrat leaned his sooty head on Roadhogs shoulder.

“Just makes me wonder, though...”

“Hmm?”

“For next years anniversary...how hard is it to find goanna meat around these parts?”


End file.
